


Divine Quota

by John_Steiner



Category: religious comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:47:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22689469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_Steiner/pseuds/John_Steiner
Summary: Despite his reputation the Grim Reaper struggles to maintain his job performance in heaven. When called to Gabriel's office, Grim initially thinks he's in trouble for ordering a laptop to replace the golden typewriter heaven assigned for his use. However, in a decanual review of deaths on Earth, Grim realizes his job is on the line.





	Divine Quota

Typewriters banged away throughout the office. Row after row of angels and even lion-bodied cherubim working away at their reports. Grim found it a bit amusing watching a cherubim pawing with difficulty at his typewriter having only leopard feet to work with. Then, Grim's joy was sucked out of him.

"Reaps," spoke Gabriel, "In my office please."

"Damn," Grim muttered under his breath, "I hope they didn't find my laptop purchase on Amazon."

Grim left the robes and sickle by his desk when he stood up and left his chair. Golden office thrones, like everything else, and yet The Administration couldn't afford pay rises.

The transit of souls from Earth to Heaven happened in the same span as a final breath, but Grim spent an hour walking across the office. Endless rows of angels worked, with walls of crystal separating each cubical and pairs of rows with a walkway down the middle whose end one could not see without angelic sight.

At last, Grim arrived at the gaudy doors to Gabe's office, and he knocked lightly.

"Enter," Gabriel said, and waved at, surprise, yet another gold chair opposite his desk. "Sit down."

Wanting to act despondent and just land in a slump, Grim carefully planted his soul-collecting rear and leaned back without causing any creaks.

"How long as you been with us Grim?" Gabe asked.

"Well, obviously since the position opened up in 1357," a confused Grim replied. "No one else was taking it, and I had work experience."

"And you did well for us," Gabe appeared to congratulate without looking at Grim as he added, "Reaped up about a third of Europe. So--, what changed?"

"Excuse me?" Grim sat upright and asked.

Gabe laid out a scroll with golden inked writing. "You see these numbers?"

"Yeah," Grim answered while looking, but not picking up the document.

"They're down," Game pointed out, "Decannual report, and they're down. Preventable disease, starvation, even violence. What's the story?"

"I'm doing my best," Grim brought his hands to his bony chest, and held them out. "I can't help that those talking monkeys are getting smarter. You could send someone a revelation about vaccines and demons, or something. I'm workin' the beat alone here. They pulled my flight status and confiscated my wings after the Bubonic Plague failure."

"Look," Gabe said leaning forward and resting his chin on the flawless skin of his clasped hands. "They're dead. They shouldn't be hard to gather up. We have angels who gotta inspire people while racing against UCAVs armed with 500 pound bombs. Just yesterday Samael started a whole new abortion clinic bombing group that still isn't known to the FBI. All we're asking of you is to reap the souls. That's why we changed your legal name."

"I can't collect if they're not kicking over," Grim defended, and waved back at the door, "And that's all on foot, no less. It's not easy carving a hole between realities using just a scythe. I mean a farming implement? Really? Michael and the others got issued swords."

"Grim, we got orders From On High," Gabe explained, "The Word is that either these numbers come up or we contract out to the basement."

"What...?" Grim caught himself from having an outburst, but waved about frantically, "Really? That guy? He's got..., what? Ten people on his sheet? Ten deaths, and the Old Man ordered him to do it. He has zip experience," to which Grim held up his fleshless hand to form a zero with a click of finger bones, "ZERO experience."

"Grim," Gabriel spoke softly, "Do we need another talk with HR?"

Heavenly Resources, the place where failed angels get their file reviewed and possibly written up. The last time HR was needed it let to firings of a third of the department and their chairs thrown from the wall of heaven. It wasn't a good week to be under the Almighty's eye.

Grim scratched at the hole where an ear should be. "No, I don't need to talk to HR. I'm sorry. I'll do better."

"Good to hear," Gabe replied with a nod, and then waved his fingers out. "Alright, back to work now. I got another televangelist kook wanting messages from the Boss."

Feeling the weight of the cosmos on his back, Grim rose from the chair, his shoulders slumped and head hung low. He walked another hour back to his desk and resumed his report.


End file.
